Page 289 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Reminiscences

with locker-room hilarity, but it was also unquestionable that this
unverifiable anecdote revealed the true character of the French
aristocracy on the eve of revolution.
I saw very little of AR after I left home for university. His
influence continued, however; I didn’t quit studying Hebrew until the
year he died, even though my interest in other Judaic affairs was on
the wane. And I found myself reading philosophers of a decidedly
pessimistic bent. He observed this, and delivered the opinion that a
young man shouldn’t study philosophy; in the late sixties I wrote the
following epigram:

Grandfather’s advice

Beam or absorb:
Don’t reflect.

The last time I remember seeing him was in the summer of 1963.
I was living in a tiny apartment by the beach, exposing myself to both
the malevolent emanations of philosophy and the sun’s harmful rays.
One day I paid him a visit on Orange Street, riding my bicycle all the
way across town. We talked, and he showed me the piece he was
carving at the time: it was outdoors, on a stand, but I can’t remember
what it looked like. He gave me lunch, and I pedaled back to Venice.
Of that meeting I do recall one thing he said. After observing his
bachelor domestic arrangements, I half-jokingly suggested that he
remarry. Quite seriously, and with typical gruffness, he replied: “I am
married in heaven.”

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